"No. Not a bit of use.. I haven't enough on him to have a hope of getting it."
"Ciod e so? Is there another that has as much motive for these murders?"
"That's what I don't know yet. You can take it from me that Big Business interests aren't going to be annoyed on the evidence I've got. You can go round to Poulton's office first thing in the morning, and check up on this conference story. Meanwhile, I'm getting a lot of funny ideas about this case. I have to keep telling myself that first thoughts are best. I'm staying here till Mrs. Haddington's sister turns up. You nip round to wherever it is Mr.. Sydney Butterwick hangs out - you've got the address, haven't you? Park Lane, or something - and get his story out of him. Unless you get something startling from him, you needn't show up again till tomorrow morning."
"And where," asked the Inspector politely, "will you be going yourself, Chief Inspector, when you leave Charles Street?"
Hemingway grinned. "Back to the Yard!"
"I will be seeing you there, then," said the Inspector.
"All right, Sandy. You're several kinds of silly ass, but, barring your habit of breathing that Gaelic at me, I don't know when I've had a sub I got on with better!"
"Moran taing!" said the Inspector.
A click indicated that he had replaced his receiver. Hemingway followed his example, mentally registering a vow to discover the meaning of this cryptic valediction at the earliest opportunity. He went into the hall, where one of his men was sitting. To him, he issued instructions to lock and seal the doors into Mrs. Haddington's bedroom and boudoir. The officer had scarcely reached the halflanding when the front-door bell rang. Forestalling Thrimby, who had retired to his underground fastness, Hemingway opened the door, and admitted into the house Miss Violet Pickhill, who bore all the appearance of one who had snatched up the first hat and coat that chanced to meet her eyes. Fumbling within the folds of the coat, she drew forth her pince-nez, on the end of a thin chain, and jabbed them on to her nose. Through them she subjected the Chief Inspector to a suspicious scrutiny. "Who may you be?" she demanded.
Hemingway announced himself, and was annoyed to detect a note of apology in his own voice.